Survival
by YorQueenUlfric
Summary: They say you got to have a reason for survival. Something to keep you going. Ollie and Slade friendship fic.


**Just a little drabble that came to me, hope you all enjoy! Can't wait for a new episode! Hopefully with more of Slade! ;)**

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"God I am so hungry!" Oliver grinned, seeing Slade walk through the camp with a large beast over his shoulder. He could never really understand it, how Slade managed to capture such animals with so little damage to himself. Must have been something his bearded companion learned in 'Australian Spy School'. "Hope it's something good," Oliver teased, sitting up from where he had been resting.

Slade seemed to mutter something darkly.

By now Oliver was somewhat used to his friend's moods as they came and went. It was something that you had to accept along with him.

"If you don't like it," Slade glanced at Oliver as he spoke, "You can go look for some French restaurant on the island, and maybe bring me back some Urve de' soulire."

Oliver chuckled, shaking his head. "No thank you." He said, raising a hand as if in defeat, "Your cooking beats any Parisan's."

Slade grinned sarcastically, almost as if he was savoring the victory. "Good." He said, gesturing with his hunting knife at the carcass, "Now. Maybe if you'd be so kind you might like to help me with it." Slade stared at Oliver, expecting the kid to get up and help. Otherwise, he could go hungry. God knew that the kid was useless where hunting was concerned, he might as well help clean the kill.

Oliver grimaced. Months on the island and still he hated this job. It was grisly to say the least, and yet did not seem to effect Slade at all. Oliver did not know which was more disturbing. He poked the creature, looking unhappy at his prospects.

Slade watched him for a moment, and then chuckled, finding the situation amusing. He gave Oliver a friendly slap on the back, "Come on then!" He grinned, "Let's get this started then shall we?" He pulled an extra knife from one of his many pockets, flipping it deftly in one hand before handing it to Oliver. "Start at that end." He nodded with his head, "And if you cut his stomach or anything else I will gut you."

Oliver tilted his head, shrugging as he gave in. He remembered the first time he had done this, and he had slit the bladder open by accident. He did not remember much of what happened afterwards, except for a horrible smell flooding their living quarters and Slade boxing his ears and telling him how stupid he was.

Knowing Slade his threat might well be genuine.

Oliver frowned, settling down to his work carefully. Best not risk another stink bomb. Who knew what these stupid pigs were eating anyway.

Slade was quiet as he worked, never really being much for conversation when there was work to be done. Something that annoyed Oliver slightly, but he was thankful that the man talked at all. It was nice to hear another human voice on the island, even if it was only Slade.

Later, when they had finished Slade set about cooking the beast, teaching Oliver at the same time and sharing the work fairly. It was not until sometime later that they sat back to relax until their food was cooked. Oliver stared into the fire, letting many dour thoughts creep into his mind.

There was so much he had to set right.

On top of that, he had to survive. Survive for his father who had made the ultimate sacrifice for his son. But how? He was lucky enough to find himself in the company of somewhat friendly people, Slade not being exactly what Oliver would term as 'friendly', but who knew how long their luck might hold? Their chances of survival, which Slade made no secret of, were slim at best.

"Wilson?" He asked, still watching the dancing flames.

A queer sound answered him, sort of a mixture between a hrumph and a grunt. Slade was leaning against a box and his eyes were closed, as if either in deep thought or sleep. Oliver was well enough versed in his friend's methods of communication, and even if the man did sound as if he was dozing Oliver knew that he was listening and more then that alert. Ready to leap up in a second if something was wrong.

"What?" Slade asked gruffly when Oliver did not answer right away.

"I've been thinking," Oliver started. A snort was heard from his comrade as the bearded Australian murmured, "Oh god, not that." The sarcasm clearly evident in his friend's tone. Oliver however ignored this, used to the man's behavior.

"I don't know I mean," Oliver added, rubbing the back of his head, "It's just that everything I've read about survival, and really that hasn't been much, just um. Everything I've read says that people who survive had a reason to survive." His brows furrowed as he thought about it, what was he surviving for? Really? "That something kept them going."

Slade cracked open an eye, glancing at the kid curiously. "Yeah." He said slowly, as if thinking about it himself, "It's always the thing that's most important to you, something that gives you strength everyday to go on. That you're willing to fight for."

He shifted into a more comfortable position, "But it's like a treasure you know? You don't sit around all day and let yourself die because of it. It's your reason for survival. You let it motivate you to do what you need to."

Oliver pulled out his photograph of Laurel, the one she had given him. She was smiling in it, as if already expecting him home. He smiled softly with fondness, "Then I guess I know what's mine." He mused out loud.

Slade glanced at the kid holding his picture, and oddly enough appeared sympathetic for a moment. Nodding. "You'll get back to her soon kid. Don't worry." He said, attempting in some way to be comforting and leaning back as if he meant to go back to sleep.

"Hey. Slade."

"Yep." Slade answered with closed eyes, pursing his lips. He wanted to go to sleep, not spend all night talking.

"Thanks."

A few moments of silence. "You're welcome." He answered gruffly, as if indulging Oliver for once.

Crickets chirped as the fire danced about, licking the dripping meat greedily. Oliver leaned back, keeping an eye on the food so that it wouldn't burn. Slade would kill him for that.

The next day came about early. Early for Slade at least, Oliver woke a few hours later, just as the sunbeams were beginning to come through and touch his face lightly with their warm heat. The insects could be heard, beginning to stir and awaiting Slade's curses for the day.

Oliver blinked sleepily, stretching after a comfortable night and giving a long and annoyingly loud yawn. Oddly enough, waking up earlier he didn't feel so tired. Which was odd, considering he used to get up at noon.

" 'Morning." Slade said bluntly, seeing Oliver awake.

Oliver shook his head, giving a lopsided smile, "Is it too much to ever say good morning Wilson?"

"Oh I don't know." Wilson answered sarcastically, going through some supplies. "When we're off this island, and people aren't trying to kill us, and I'm not stuck with a stupid kid, maybe. Maybe then I'll look at it as a good morning." He tossed a bag on top of Oliver. "In fact, I'm looking forward to it. Maybe I'll take a vacation."

Oliver smirked and shook his head. Full of sunshine and smiles Slade was.

Oliver glanced at the bag, expecting to find a knife. "Um Slade?" He asked, "I haven't been demoted or anything have I?" Slade didn't seem to understand at first, so Oliver pursed his lips, gesturing at his bag. "The knife Slade."

"Oh." Slade answered, understanding suddenly. He'd put it in his pocket. "Here then." He said, pulling out a knife from his pocket and handing it to the kid. "Try not to kill yourself on it." He said, quirking an eyebrow.

Oliver's eyes however were elsewhere. When Slade had pulled out the knife from his pocket a slip of paper had fallen from it, swinging lightly on the air currents until it had reached the ground. Slade turned to walk away, unnoticing of his loss.

Oliver's curious hands reached for the paper, and upon reaching it found it was a photo. Funny. Wilson didn't seem like the sentimental type. Curiousity getting the best of him, Oliver took a good and close look at the photo.

It was a family.

Like his, only larger. All the members alive and smiling.

Imagine his surprise when he saw Slade with them, oddly enough actually smiling. A little girl on his knee and two boys at his side. The family resemblence clear. He wondered for a moment which was Joe, the son that Wilson had mentioned. They were dark haired and dark eyed, all like their father with that sort of fire in their eyes. Not only that there was a woman with him, one that Oliver reasoned could only be Wilson's wife. He was looking at a family photo. A priceless object in a place like this.

Slade walked back into the plane, seeming unaware of what had happened.

"Uh Slade," Oliver said, "Slade you. You dropped this." He handed the photo back to the man, feeling as if he'd seen another side to his often grouchy and serious friend.

Slade looked worried for a moment, as if the thought that he had almost lost this valuable paper was actually enough to scare him for a moment. He took the picture hastily, stuffing it back safely in his pocket. He paused a moment, "Thanks." He said, nodding and trying to make it appear as if nothing had happened.

Oliver looked thoughtful for a moment. All those people that survived had a reason to. Was Slade's reason his family? Perhaps he wasn't as cold as he let on.

Slade had turned to walk away and finish preparations when Oliver's voice stopped him. "That's your reason. Isn't it?" Oliver asked, no snark or tease apparent. Rather the opposite, a sort of respect even. "It's your family." He said, thinking of his own and how he had to make things right with them. How he had hurt them so many times.

Slade didn't answer at first. Turning around slowly to face Oliver.

For a brief moment his mind thought of his family, those he loved more dearly then life itself.

Grant. Loyal and and stubborn.

Joe, the quiet lad.

Little fiery Rosie.

And of course his beautiful Adeline.

What was he surviving for? Not for himself. No, god knew not for himself. He had to get back, to get back for them. The family that he loved and missed. Missed so much. To be there for them, to be a father and good husband. To watch his children grow up. He couldn't miss that. He'd never forgive himself if he did. More so if anything happened to them while he was away.

"Yeah." Was all he answered before turning around and leaving Oliver alone in the wreckage. He had things to do. You didn't sit around and think of your treasure all day. It was your reason for survival, not your reason to die.

Oliver smiled softly. Well, well, well. It seemed Slade Wilson was human after all.


End file.
